The Sickness
by Major Htom
Summary: Anthony Crowley, Ezra Fell, Newt Pulsifer and Anathema Device are all friends in their final year of undergrad uni and are preparing to graduate in the summer. Except for the massive roadblock of Ezra being hospitalised after falling ill for what is actually the first time ever. And it doesn't look good. (All-Human AU)
1. Chapter 1

Anthony Crowley was walking along down the high street as he listened to his beaten up old iPhone that he'd had since the day that particular model had been released. His iPhone was used less and less for its intended purpose and more as an iPod these days and as a student he could hardly afford to get it replaced, what with the having to pay nine grand a year tuition and on top of that, halls, living expenses, food, laundry and a hundred and fifty four pounds a year for a TV license. It all piled up and he had only thirty pence in his bank account waiting for the next almost grand and a half loan from Student Finance England to find its way into his bank account. He was going to go overdraft. He just didn't care.

He had bigger things to worry about after all as he was drinking a Red Bull, having pulled an all-nighter the previous night in order to cram for the exam that he'd had that morning. And despite what his friends would have to say about it, this was a regular occurrence.

Crowley stopped outside a Boots when he felt his phone buzzing in his jeans pocket (and Freddie Mercury's voice had been replaced with his stupid Apple ringtone that he hadn't been bothered to change).

He answered it and sighed loudly if only to let the caller know how much they'd inconvenienced him. "Anathema, this had better be important."

"_Ez has been taken ill_." The caller, Anathema, said down the phone. "_Newt called an ambulance and the paramedic called the blue lights. He's gone to hospital._"

Crowley wasn't sure how to react to this news. Ezra had been his best friend since childhood. They'd gone to playgroup together and nursery and the same primary and secondary schools and when Ezra quit sixth to go to college, Crowley had joined him and now they attended the same university. They'd done their GCSEs together. And in all of that time, Crowley had never known Ezra to get so much as the sniffles, break his leg or even have nits, considering how often he worked with kids. Not that nits or broken legs were illnesses _exactly_ but he still won all the perfect attendance awards at school.

"_Crowley. Are you still there?_" Anathema's voice came down the phone.

"Yeah." Crowley cleared his throat. "Yes. Yeah, Annie, I'm here."

"_You should come back to halls_."

"Why?"

"_Just_..." A long pause. "_We'll tell you when you get here_."

And all Crowley could hear was a long flat tone; Anathema had hung up.

Crowley and Ezra had met Anathema and Newt almost two and a half years ago when they had all been freshers. They were all now in their last year of university and were carefully and hurriedly working on their dissertations, which had to be in by mid-March. It was currently mid-January.

The dissertation _had_ to be done or they wouldn't graduate with their degrees in the summer. Crowley, being Crowley, hadn't started his yet. Ezra, being Ezra, had actually nearly finished his. Anathema and Newt were working on theirs, with varying degrees of success.

Anathema Device worked for an occultist and metaphysical supply shop that stocked everything from herbs and spices, pestles and mortars to crystals for alternative healing. She was a witch. Or at least that's what she called herself but then she _was_ descended from the witch and prophetess Agnes Nutter. Her boss, a medium (except on Thursdays. And some mornings. And most evenings) who called herself Madame Tracy, found that very impressive and hired Anathema on the spot.

Newton Pulsifer, however, worked for an old man by the name of Shadwell who ran an antique store and was obsessed with finding antiques around the Witchfinder Army. He would also stand on the street corner handing out flyers to passers-by and raving to them about witches. He did the exact same thing with his customers. Newt had no part in this and it embarrassed him greatly to know that everyone, himself included, thought of his boss as a raving lunatic.

* * *

Crowley spent much of the journey back to halls on autopilot.

He didn't notice passing the mother and her child. The man on the street corner pedalling The Big Issue. The lesbian couple sitting outside and sharing an espresso and caramel frappe creme at the Caffè Nero. The student busking with a guitar playing Ed Sheeran's Shape Of You. The Jehovah Witnesses thrusting copies of The Watchtower to any unlucky bugger who passed by.

This is how Crowley looked down at his hand and noticed it was no longer holding his can of Red Bull, but a copy of The Watchtower. Which he promptly threw into the nearest litter receptacle.

"Fuckin' Watchtower." He muttered to himself.

There was nothing more annoying than Jehovah Witnesses proselytising on the high street, except maybe Jehovah Witnesses proselytising in tube stations, around halls or, worse still, door to door.

There were actually lots of things that annoyed Crowley. But Jehovah Witnesses were an inconvenience for sure.

He arrived back at halls where there was a black female and a white female, both Jehovah Witnesses and both pedalling Awake! which further irritated Crowley.

The white female tried to hand Crowley a copy of Awake! but Crowley lowered his sunglasses and glared hard at her, which intimidated her into backing away.

"Crowley!"

Crowley's head snapped towards the voice. Which belonged to a waving Newt. He walked over and whipped off his sunglasses.

"What's happened to Ezra?" He demanded.

"Erm..." Was all Newt could say.

Newt was hardly the most articulate of his friends. That honour went to either Ezra or Anathema (more likely Ezra since he believed it wasn't moral to swear and so came up with many colourful alternatives). Newt just said 'um', 'uh' and 'erm' and used sentence fillers a lot.

Crowley raised an eyebrow. "Well, Newt?"

"It all happened so fast." Said Anathema, coming from behind Newt. "Ez came from his exam and said he wasn't feeling well. Neither Newt or I had an exam today. I went to get Ez a drink of water. He collapsed. Had a seizure."

"I called nine-nine-nine. A paramedic in a car came and examined him." Newt continued. "He called the blue lights and an ambulance took Ez to hospital."

"Which one?" Crowley demanded.

Anathema told him.

Crowley clenched his jaw. He wanted to swear. But he tried to keep it in.

"Have either of you told Ez's family yet?"

"Crowley, it's a seizure. He's probably going to be fine-"

"No, Annie, it's bad." Crowley said. "_Really_ bad. My family's always known Ez's. He's had all his vaccines and he's never been sick with _anything_. Not even the common cold. What if he's got a-a brain tumour or something?"

"You can't jump to the worst possible outcome, Crowley." Anathema said. "He was very hot when he collapsed so he probably just has a fever. Some people get seizures when they have a fever and since Ez never had any illness before-"

"And if it _is_ brain cancer?"

"Then we can just be there for him." Newt said.

* * *

Ezra Fell did not have a brain tumour. Or any cancer for that matter. But he _was_ running a very high fever. And his head was hurting from the fever and so were his muscles and deep down into his bones. Or at least he was assuming it was from the fever. He didn't know. He'd never had a fever before and he was quite scared.

In fact, nothing like this had ever happened to him before. He'd never visited the doctor except to get his shots. He'd never been to hospital outside of volunteering or visiting. He wondered how other people did it. His brothers and sisters. Anathema. Newt. Crowley. The Them.

"I can assure you, I'm really quite fine-"

"And I can assure you, I can't just let you out of the ambulance." Said a rather impatient paramedic. "You've had a seizure and you're running a fever of forty degrees."

"Do you think I have meningitis? Because I've had the vaccine."

"I don't know what it is." The paramedic said. "Nor am I qualified to diagnose it. You'll have to wait until a space opens up in the A&E."

"Am I dying?" Ezra asked in panic. "What if I have Ebola?"

"You _definitely_ don't have Ebola and you're _probably_ not dying. Or you wouldn't be talking to me." The paramedic said.

* * *

"It's all my fault." Crowley said. "It's my fault."

"It's nobody's fault. I don't think."

"Newt's right. It's just one of these things that happen." Anathema said. "Crowley, I honestly don't think Ez is dying."

"What if he is?" Crowley asked. "He might be in a coma-"

"He was talking to me after the seizure." Newt said. "I mean he, like, he sounded confused. And it freaked us out a little. But he was still awake when the paramedics came and took him away. Unless something's happened since then, he's not in a coma."

"Seizures don't just happen-"

"Sometimes they _do_, Crowley." Anathema said. "It doesn't mean anyone's dying or in a coma or they've got epilepsy or meningitis or aggressive brain cancer-"

"Not helping, Annie." Newt said.

"My point is that they do sometimes just... happen. And Ez had a fever."

Anathema was a straight A engineering student who held no degrees in medicine, but Crowley felt better hearing this. After all, she may have sold crystals for 'healing', but she didn't really believe it.

"You're right." He nodded. "It's probably not the worst case."

"Come on." Said Newt, the perpetually unlucky accounting student. "I'll drive us to the hospital-"

"NO!" Both Crowley and Anathema bellowed.

"I mean, that's not really necessary." Crowley said. "I have my own car."

"And I can ride with Crowley." Anathema added.

"But... you're my girlfriend." Newt said.

"I... I'd rather ride with Crowley." Anathema said.

"I get it." Newt said with a sad nod.

"It's just that Crowley's car is, well, it's a _car_, Newt. I don't know what your car is, but it's _not_ a car."

Crowley raised his hand slightly. "Yeah, it's not a car, mate."

"I guess I'll be driving myself."

Crowley sighed. "Get in my car, Pulsifer. I'm not having you put yourself in the hospital too. One of us is more than enough."

* * *

At the hospital, a bed shortage meant that a doctor had to go to the ambulance and see Ezra who was waiting there and hooked up to a heart monitor.

Just as Ezra was telling the doctor hat he was okay, he tensed up and fell back against the gurney. His eyes rolled back and he started violently convulsing.

The doctor timed the seizure and when it didn't stop after three minutes, he ordered the paramedics to get Ezra into the A&E.

* * *

As Crowley was driving, his phone rang on the dashboard. He looked at the phone and then back on the road, but the phone kept buzzing.

"Anathema, can you answer that?" Crowley asked. "Only I'm driving."

"Sure." Anathema grabbed the phone and dragged the little green symbol to answer the phone. "Anthony J. Crowley's iPhone, this is Anathema Device speaking, how may I help you?"

Crowley frowned and briefly glanced to Anathema, before his eyes went back on the road.

Anathema had the phone in one hand and covered the microphone with her other hand. "Crowley, you need to pull over." She said urgently. "Now."

"What is it?" Crowley asked.

"It's the hospital." Anathema explained. "Apparently you're Ez's emergency contact."

"Oh Jesus." Crowley looked for the safest spot to pull over and put the hazard lights on. He took the phone from Anathema.

"This is, erm, Anthony J. Crowley speaking."

Both Anathema and Newt stayed quiet and tried to hear what the person on the other end of the receiver was saying. With the running engine of the car, the repetitive clicking of the hazard light and the whooshing of the cars passing by outside, it was difficult task.

"Okay." Crowley said. "Thank you." He hung up the phone and tossed it on the dashboard.

Nobody said anything. Tensions were so thick they could be cut with a knife.

Then;

"Shitshitshitshit_SHIT_!" Crowley thumped at the steering wheel so hard it was a minor miracle his airbags didn't deploy and screamed out loud. It sounded less pained and less angry and more terrified like he'd been spooked in a haunted house with just a hint of frustration.

"Crowley, are you-" Anathema began.

Crowley held up his left hand, the palm was red raw from all the hitting of the wheel.

He lowered his head and rested it on the steering wheel and a near complete silence fell over the car, save for the click-click-clicking of the hazard light.

A few minutes passed and Crowley raised his head again.

"Fuck." He muttered.

"Are you alright, Crowley?" Newt asked.

"Just fine, Pulsifer." Crowley said.

"Is Ezra-"

"He's _not_ fine."

"Oh no, Crowley, I'm so sorry." Anathema said.

"He's not _dead_, Device. Just..."

Crowley exhaled loudly.

* * *

**A/N: Right. I wrote this because I wanted to. I saw so many 'college' AUs that took place in Britain and I was like... none of this matches my experience or the experience of any uni student in the UK. So here it is, my accurate British Uni AU.**

**Much of this is probably unique to the British/British student experience. But I hope Americans can relate too. If you have any questions, ask a Brit. **


	2. Chapter 2

"Morning, Mr Shadwell." Newt greeted as he stepped into his boss's store for work the next day. He took off his coat. "Sorry I'm a bit late."

"Did any witches get you?" Shadwell asked, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

"Uh... no." Newt was used to these kinds of questions by now. He found it best not to say that witches didn't exist. Well, there was Anathema. But she wasn't like the supernatural Harry Potter witches like Shadwell believed in. "No witches. A friend of mine's sick."

"Oh, aye?" Shadwell asked in interest.

"He's in the hospital. Apparently he's never been sick before." Newt walked over to the back room, carrying his coat.

"Oh he's definitely been cursed by a witch." Shadwell said.

"Erm... how-how can you tell?" Newt hung up his coat and avoided his boss's eye contact.

"You say he's never been sick before, now he's in the hospital? Witch's curse."

"That's nice." Newt said absent minded. He turned around to Shadwell standing in his way.

"It's not 'nice', laddie. It's terrible."

Newt tried to sidestep his boss. "It's just a fever, Mr Shadwell. He's... well, he's not fine exactly, but he's not dying I don't... think. He's just having seizures."

"Ah then it's not witchcraft but demonic possession!" Shadwell said.

"Demons don't exist, Mr Shadwell." Newt said. "And neither do angels." Or witches, he thought.

"That's what they want you to think, lad, so they can take over your body!"

"Sure they do, Mr Shadwell." Newt said.

"I mean it, laddie." Shadwell said. "Now tell me, how many nipples does your friend have?"

Newt sighed. Today was going to be a long day.

* * *

"I'm sorry I'm late, Madame Tracy." Anathema said, rushing into Madame Tracy's Spiritual Supplies, the shop that she worked at. "My friend's in the hospital."

Madame Tracy looked up from the book she'd been reading; The Ocean at the End of the Lane. "Oh yes, I heard. How is Ezra doing?"

"He's got a very high fever and he's had three seizures." Anathema explained. "They don't know what's causing it, so they're keeping him sedated."

"Oh the poor dear." Madame Tracy moved from behind the counter. "I have just the thing for him. Try some hematite or peridot and put it on his forehead. They're good stones for fever."

"I couldn't even if I wanted to." And Anathema didn't want to because she believed in the doctors at the hospital and not her wacky boss's crystal healing. "His brain's being monitored because of the seizures."

"Fair. Why don't you put it in his hand instead? Stones do better when they're given skin contact."

"I'll consider it." Anathema said.

"Also consider some lapis. It's a calming crystal and would probably help keep his central nervous system calm and prevent further seizures." Madame Tracy explained. She grabbed a small piece of lapis from a shelf filled with lots of other crystals-all labelled of course. "To that extent, I also think some malachite would do good as it's a stone for balance." She took another small stone and turned to Anathema. "Would you like to try him with some essential oils?"

"He's on a life support machine and wouldn't be able to inhale them, so probably not." Anathema said. "I don't think they allow burning oils in the hospital anyway."

"I suppose not." Madame Tracy pressed the stones into Anathema's palms. "Try these with him. I'm sure he'll get better."

"I hope so too, Madame Tracy." Anathema said. "I'm more worried about Crowley. He's not taking this whole thing very well at all."

"Crowley's your friend the goth, right?"

"He's not a goth, he just likes black."

* * *

Crowley cared more about what was in his bank account today than he did yesterday, so despite his reservations about leaving Ezra in the hospital, he turned up for work.

Unlike Anathema or Newt or even Ezra, Crowley didn't work in a little independent shop. No, he worked for Costa Coffee. Which meant that unlike his friends, he had to wear a uniform; a red t-shirt, a brown apron and a name tag. And he hated it. He was only doing it for the money at this point. Once he got his degree in horticulture... he would be out quicker than you could say 'plant science'.

Crowley would usually be lucky that the shop wasn't too busy, but today was a bad day for it to be this way. It would have been better if today were busier, like swept off his feet busy because then he wouldn't stew about Ezra.

A grumpy old man entered and approached the counter.

"I got this." Crowley said to his co-worker. He turned to the old man. "What can I get you?" He asked.

"A black cappuccino."

Crowley sighed.

"What was that, boy?" The man asked.

"We don't do black cappuccinos. I'm sure nowhere does." Crowley said.

"I had a black cappuccino yesterday. Make me a black cappuccino today."

"Black cappuccinos don't exist, sir. You're going to have to select something else."

"But I had one yesterday." The man argued.

"You may have had an americano yesterday, but you did not have a black cappuccino." Crowley said.

The man folded his arms. "I demand to speak to your manager."

Crowley put his palms on the counter. "He's only going to tell you the same thing. Black cappuccinos do not exist. Pick something else."

The man narrowed his eyes at Crowley. He was seething inside, it was clear to see. The man was R.P. Tyler, a known pedant. Whenever things were not to his liking, he would send little passive aggressive notes to people. But about his favourite thing to was publicly name and shame the people who'd wronged him by writing a letter to his favourite newspaper, the Tadfield Advertiser.

Crowley had been named and shamed more than once in R.P. Tyler's letters. So had Ezra, who was nothing less than a model person and was so well behaved in school that not everyone discounted the possibility that he might secretly have been an angel. If that was the case, then Crowley would have been the demon.

Crowley narrowed his eyes back at the man.

R.P. Tyler was mentally composing a letter. This time not to the Tadfield Advertiser, but to The Times. The sixth most circulated newspaper in the entire UK. That would definitely get this insolent employee fired, he thought.

To the editor,

Sirs,

I feel I must note the absolutely unacceptable behaviour of youth today. When I walked into Costa Coffee today, I expected to purchase a drink. The barista, a young man named Anthony, had ear piercings and tattoos and dyed hair and sunglasses and he refused me point blank my coffee. His manners left much to be desired. This individual, as a representative of his generation, represents a decline in moral standards among the youth...

"Either choose another drink or leave." Crowley's manager said. "You can't stand there staring at the employees looking like you want to stab them."

"You're the manager." R.P. Tyler said. "Right. I would like to make a complaint about this employee."

"What's Crowley done now?"

"He refused to serve me the drink I had selected."

"And what was that drink?"

"A black cappuccino." Crowley said.

"There's no such thing as a black cappuccino." The manager said. "Or if there is, we certainly don't make them here. The only black drink we do make is an americano. So you're getting an americano. Primo, medio or massimo?"

"I don't want an americano, I want a black cappuccino." R.P. Tyler was getting very irritated. Veins started bulging in his head.

"We don't make them." The manager said.

"I'm not leaving without a drink. I can have you fired, you know." R.P. Tyler said. "Just wait until the Tadfield Advertiser hears about this."

The manager turned to Crowley and spoke in a hushed voice. "Make him a primo americano. Tell him it's a black cappuccino."

Crowley nodded and got to work.

"Next!" The manager shouted.

* * *

It was five in the evening and a small group of children, and their dog, strolled into a bookshop arguing about the Spanish Inquisition which they'd been learning about it in their history lesson earlier that day.

This group was The Them. Other people called the children 'them' in a disparaging way, so they adopted the name for their little group. The Them was made up of the bookish Wensleydale, the standoffish Pepper, the grimy Brian, their leader Adam and Adam's pet dog, Dog.

They were there looking for Ezra, only they found someone else instead. A tall man with black hair wearing a grey suit. Much older than the twenty-one year old Ezra.

"You're not Mr Fell." Pepper said.

"No, I'm not." The man agreed. "Mr Fell is... unwell, so I've taken over his shift. My name is Gabriel."

"Like the archangel Gabriel?" Wensleydale noted.

"Sure." Gabriel said dismissively. "In any case, I'm Mr Fell's boss."

"Aren't you a Mr something too?" Adam asked.

"I am a Mr, but you don't have to call me that." Gabriel said. "Just call me Gabriel, that's fine."

"You're not as nice as Mr Fell." Brian said accusingly.

"Ezra's too perfect for his own good, to be completely honest. He's weird like that." Gabriel said.

Dog sniffed around Gabriel, knowing that there was something weird about him. He smelled strongly of vape, so maybe that was it.

"Well, we were looking for a history book." Wensleydale said. "About the Spanish Inquisition."

Gabriel let out a low whistle. "You're a bit young to be learning about the Spanish Inquisition, aren't you? How about a nice book on... the Moon Landing?"

"Well, our teacher this morning's been telling us stuff about the Spanish Inquisition." Brian explained. "She said that people was burned to death in the streets for entertainment. We reckon it was 'cause they was witches. People burned witches in them days after all."

The four kids looked at Gabriel expecting some kind of an answer.

"Right. Well... it wasn't because they were witches." Gabriel said. "And it's a misconception anyway, witches were hanged or beheaded. Generally they were not burned, especially not in Britain."

"But that's Britain." Pepper pointed out. "We're asking about Spain."

"I, uh, don't know if anyone's been executed in Spain for being a witch, but that's certainly not what the Spanish Inquisition was about."

"What was it about then?" Adam asked.

Dog sat at Adam's feet. He cocked his head and looked up at Gabriel as though he were expecting an answer as well.

"Well, Spain's King and Queen, along with the Pope, formed a sort of task force that tortured so called heretics, people who refused to denounce their beliefs and convert to Catholicism. It was mainly Jews and Muslims who were tortured, in order to get them to confess to being non-Catholic and executed, sometimes by burning at the stake. And this went on for around five hundred and forty years."

The Them just stared at Gabriel in disbelief. Was he telling the truth or was it a lie to shut them all up?

Pepper was the first of The Them to speak. "So they didn't execute witches?"

Gabriel nodded. "Oh yes, they executed a few. Along with scientists. But that number was few. Historians argue about a lot of it though. But they are certain that more people were forced to do penance than were executed."

"What's penance then?" Brian asked.

"It's where you punish yourself because you feel guilty for wrongdoing." Wensleydale said.

"Uh... yes." Gabriel said. "That's correct."

"That's horrible!" Pepper said. "Ganging up on people for no reason!"

"Well nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition." Gabriel said.

"So when's Mr Fell coming back?" Adam asked.

"I don't know." Gabriel admitted. "He's in the hospital."

"Can we go and visit him?" Pepper asked.

"I... wouldn't." Gabriel said.

"But Mr Fell-other Mr Fell-is our friend." Adam said. "We want to see him."

"Look, kids, I've answered your questions about the Spanish Inquisition, I'm not answering your questions about my employee."

"Why? Is he dying?" Wensleydale asked.

"I don't know, do I?" Gabriel said. "For all I know, he might be."

* * *

After his shift, Crowley entered his dorm in halls. It was very small and had only enough room for his bed, his desk and his laptop. It also had an en suite with a shower that he had no room to move about in. And a shelf. On his desk, rather than keep his work, that was where he kept his plants. And his answer machine. He also had a small tree growing in a pot in the corner.

These houseplants were Crowley's pride and joy. They were green and lush because he looked after them. He fed them and fertilised them and watered them when necessary. No other horticulture student had plants as green as Crowley's. He knew. He'd seen them.

Crowley stroked his tree and noticed a light on his answer phone. It was one of those old ones with a cassette tape that he'd got from a vintage shop. He pressed play on the message, which was from the hospital.

And just like that, he knew what was wrong with Ezra

* * *

**A/N: Seizures used to be blamed on demonic possession. But the demonic possession is more of a joke on Aziraphale's behalf. And I'm sure you know exactly what part of the book/show I'm talking about here.**

**Demon=Crowley. Angel=Aziraphale.**

**The Ocean at the End of the Lane is another book by Neil Gaiman. One that I'm Currently reading, actually.**

**Hematite and peridot are the recommended stones for a fever. Over the third eye chakra on the forehead. Lapis is the (or a) stone for calm and malachite is the stone for balance. If you believe in crystal healing, that is.**

**Costa Coffee=British Starbucks.**

**It's not the same all over the world, but an americano is a black coffee, at least in Britain.**

**Another reference to Aziraphale and Crowley being an angel and a demon.**

**The Times is indeed the sixth most circulated newspaper in the UK.**

**Primo, Medio and Massimo are the sizes you get at Costa Coffee. Roughly translate to Small, Medium and Large.**

**Vape leaves a weird fruity after smell. I don't like it.**

**Ah. I'm like 99% sure that all that's right about the Spanish Inquisition. My history's a little rusty. But it's taught in schools here. In history, RE and science classes.**

**Oh RE=Religious Education. We're a secular state, but it's compulsory.**

**Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition=Monty Python reference.**

**That's what it looked like at all the halls I went to. Very tiny. So, so tiny. Barely any room in the en suite for the shower and the toilet.**

**Does Crowley keep his plants nice and green because he keeps them in a state of constant fear? Maybe.**

**So... what exactly is wrong with Ezra/Aziraphale?**


End file.
